What You're Afraid Of
by SSJL
Summary: SSJL makes your worst nightmares come true. Entry for the Parody Challenge at the Booth Express.


**A/N: I posted this in response to the BE parody challenge, but figured there might be a few folks over here that would find it entertaining, as well. It will likely be more amusing if you have followed my fics Be With Me and Talk to Me, but may be enjoyed without. And just to reiterate, it is a parody. It is _meant_ to be horrifying. You have been warned;)**

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At first, he thought he must be dreaming. But the longer he stood dumbfounded, the more real the scene in front of him proved itself to be. Then, he had to figure out how to make his presence known. Finally, he cleared his throat, causing the liplocked couple on the couch to spring apart. The guilty parties looked at him wide-eyed.

"Booth!" his partner sputtered. "You're home early."

"Apparently. What the hell is going on here? We are together for more than a year, we buy a house together, and then I come home and find you tonguing my…my…"

"Hey, bro," Jared said guiltily from the other side of the couch, wiping lipstick from his mouth. Booth shook his head, bowled over.

"Temperance. I don't understand."

His partner sighed, and after adjusting her clothes properly, she got up from the couch to approach him. "Booth, it's probably better that you found out about this now. I've been meaning to talk to you about this."

"About what?"

"I've decided I don't require a sexy-as-sin F.B.I. agent anymore. I've really been leaning more towards mediocrity these days."

"Really? Why?"

Brennan rolled her eyes. "Come on, Booth. Give me a break. Look at you. Those muscles…those eyes…that smile. You're a _god. _And while that was kind of fun and exciting in the beginning, it's getting boring. Like, how long can something flawless hold your interest? It's always the _same."_

He looked hurt. "I thought you liked my body."

"Boooooooring," she said pointedly, her arms crossed. "But its not all about the looks, anyway."

"It's not?"

"No. It's all the orgasms, too. You're just too good in bed, Booth. Multiple orgasms take a lot out of a woman. And I'm _busy, _and I just can't use the "I'm sorry I didn't get my work done because I was too busy being ravished 3 times by my hot partner last night" excuse. Why can't you just be satisfied with pleasing me once, like a normal man? Or not pleasing me at _all, _like Jared here?" Jared gave him a shit-eating grin. Booth looked back confusedly.

"I—I'm sorry."

"Damn right you should be sorry," she sniffed. "And, while we're at it, all the stuff you do—taking me to private beaches for vacation, buying me a house, rescuing me every time I get kidnapped—trying _way _too hard, buddy. _Back off."_

"But…those times you were kidnapped…you were going to be _killed _if I didn't find you."

"Whatever. Did you ever consider that I was enjoying that alone time away from _you, _before you came barging in to save me?"

He looked at her dumbly.

"That's what I thought. Selfish."

"Bones, I'm really having a hard time understanding all this. It just doesn't make sense."

"Well, it very well may not make sense. Because, despite the fact that I'm a brilliant scientist, I am apparently mildly mentally retarded, as well. The doctors haven't been able to figure that one out quite yet."

"I suppose that explains it. A little."

Brennan looked at him apologetically. "I really am sorry, Booth. I didn't mean to hurt you. But you are just…too good at making me feel good." Her voice was sympathetic. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I guess so."

"What are you going to do?"

"I suppose I'll see if Cam will take me back. She kind of looks like a Romulan, but at least she's not insane."

"This is true," Brennan nodded. "Have a nice life, Booth."

"You too, Bones," he replied sadly, and with that he left the house so she could scrog his brother. As he drove away in his emotional rage, he got into an accident. And died.

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At the funeral, Angela walked over to a black-clad Brennan and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I'm so sorry sweetie. Are you alright?"

Brennan looked at her mournfully. "Not really, Angela. I feel like somehow, this is my fault."

"This is _not _your fault," Angela said forcefully. "I'm not entirely sure who to blame. But…it's almost as if someone…or something…has it out for us lately. Like, there is this ominous figure who is in control of our lives and our actions. And…I don't know why…but I think it must _hate _us."

"Ange, that's illogical," Brennan scoffed—but then, her face softened. "But you're right. I haven't been feeling quite myself lately. And now Booth's dead, so he's probably not feeling like himself either."

The artist nodded in agreement, then a dreamy look crossed her face. "Do you know what I wish? I wish that there would be someone or something out there we could count on. A benevolent force looking out for us, letting us be ourselves, helping us to be _better. _Someone we could trust to make things right, even when everything is going terribly wrong." She sighed. "That probably sounds crazy."

"A little."

"Do you think, though, it's possible?"

Brennan surveyed the sad scene around her, and it destroyed any potential for faith she had.

"Sorry, Ange. I'll just never believe in fanfic writers."

"Probably better not to, at a time like this," she agreed sadly. But still, there was a part of her that couldn't help hoping that come next story, there would be something worth believing in.


End file.
